


Equilibrants

by AuthorinExile



Series: Balancing Act [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Backstory, Behind the Scenes, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader's Gender is Never Specified, Reader-Insert, playing fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorinExile/pseuds/AuthorinExile
Summary: You might be the only other idiot too lucky to die in Helgen, but you aren't the only survivor in this batshit-crazy country.Not everything's about you, ya know.~~~~~~Things you didn't see or didn't understand from the perspectives of your friends.All of this is canon for Equilibrate, and it won't make much sense if you don't read it in the context of the series.





	1. Faendal's Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faendal does his own thing while you visit the Companions. It...doesn't go super well.
> 
> Takes place sometime during chapters 22-24.

Faendal hates this.

He came with you because you need his help, damn it, and he can’t exactly help you if you run off and leave him behind!

Faendal sits in the room at The Bannered Mare until Hulda comes upstairs to kick him out, and then he wanders into the marketplace.

The biggest surprise there is Anoriath.

Faendal and Anoriath knew each other, once upon a time, and Faendal did not expect to ever see him again. From the expression on Anoriath’s face, he didn’t expect to see Faendal again, either.

They don’t speak to one another.

That’s fine. Frankly, Faendal prefers it that way. In fact, it would have continued to be fine, and Faendal could have continued to ignore his past and the itch under his skin for another few decades if Anoriath had not decided to bring Faendal lunch.

Faendal does not hold to the Green Pact.

He had discussed this with you shortly after you met for the lunch that cemented your friendship when you expressed surprise at a Bosmer growing and eating vegetables. He had explained to you that Skyrim was just too unforgiving for a person to survive on meat alone.

He had not been entirely truthful.

Truthfully, Faendal’s diet had its roots in his long and complicated past, and he had no intention of reliving those memories.

But Anoriath gives him no choice.

When Faendal looks up from his sword sharpening to see a plate of food being held out for him, the first thing he notices is a distinct lack of plant matter. The second thing he notices is Anoriath’s sharp smile.

“What do you want?”

Anoriath frowns.

“Only a moment to catch up with an old friend. Is that so much to ask?”

“…No,” Faendal allows, “It isn’t much to ask at all.” He stands and sheathes his dagger, turning his back on Anoriath’s hopeful smile. “I suppose you ought to go find that friend.”

Anoriath exclaims in surprise and runs after him.

“Now, hold on a minute! Wait! Oh, Faendal, will you just--”

Faendal spins around, forcing Anoriath to stop or run into him face-first.

“ _No,_ ” Faendal growls, “you will _not_ call me by name. You lost that right years ago.”

Anoriath visibly deflates.

“...Alright. Fine. Not friends, then,” he pauses and risks a small smile. “But the Drunken Huntsman is warm, and my brother is running errands. You can leave right after, and I won’t try to stop you, but in the meantime, wouldn’t it be nice to have a hot lunch?”

Faendal spares the platter a glance. While there are no vegetables or fruits on the entire tray, there is wheat bread on Faendal’s plate. The gesture is small and virtually meaningless when compared to his history with Anoriath, but it _is_ there, and that’s something Faendal did not expect.

“Fine.”

Against his better judgment, Faendal follows Anoriath into his home.

They talk.

They don’t talk a lot, and they don’t talk about their history, but they do speak to each other for the first time in years even Faendal has lost count of.

It’s…nice, actually, in a pleasantly surprising way. Faendal catches himself genuinely laughing a time or two, and try as he might, he can’t deny the good mood that envelops him.

It passes when conversation turns to you.

“You weren’t the only arrival last night, you know,” Anoriath begins, speaking too casually for it to even approach genuine. “A human. Pretty little thing, actually, despite the scars. One of yours?”

The mischief in Anoriath’s voice provokes a glare from Faendal.

“No, they are not, and you won’t harass them. You can’t--”

“Relax.” Anoriath smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and his voice is tight. He turns his attention back to the cheese in his hand and says in a voice meant only for himself, “You were never the one I was jealous of, anyway.”

There is nothing for Faendal to say to that, so they eat in silence.

The conversation turns to the comparatively lighter topics of your flight from Helgen--though Faendal, ever loyal to you, refuses to elaborate beyond the very basics--and your thus-far unplanned travel through Skyrim.

At some point, the topics of travel and work merge, and Faendal finds himself shaking Anoriath’s hand and promising to work for him as a hunter in exchange for fair pay and a discount on necessary travel supplies.

It is the closest Faendal can bring himself to forgiveness.


	2. Some Trouble While Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faendal gets into trouble as easily as you do. He just handles it better. Sometimes.

Faendal’s work with Anoriath is tense, at first, but they reach a polite, if icy, place where they can tolerate each other in a manner that almost reaches friendship without quite making it.

Still, it’s better than nothing.

On top of that, Faendal’s always been a hunter at heart, and if it were a feasibly maintainable lifestyle in the especially cold and rural reaches of Skyrim, he’d take Camilla and get them both as far away from that blasted mill as his feet could carry him. The return of daily hunts and thrill-chasing fills Faendal with a pleasant warmth that he’d been sorely missing for a very long time. He smiles more often and feels invigorated in a way that he hasn’t since his youth.

It’s no surprise, then, that he gets reckless, too.

Anoriath had warned Faendal to stay away from the caves along the river.

“Sabre cats,” he’d said quietly, as though the mere mention of one might bring it howling down upon them. “Do  _ not _ fuck with the sabre cats.”

Anoriath had never cursed in all the time that Faendal had known him, so Faendal guessed that Anoriath was being serious, for once, and the caves were absolutely, positively, completely dreadful. Faendal swore to himself that under  _ no _ circumstances would he stir up some terrible beast by venturing too far into its lair.

This was a very serious oath, and he would be sure to maintain it. After all, Camilla was waiting for his safe return, and he could hardly let her down so swiftly.

A very serious oath,  _ indeed. _

This oath lasted approximately an hour.

At the end of this hour, Faendal had decided that, well, really, he hasn’t even killed anything all day, and that means the animals must be hiding somewhere, so surely, Anoriath was misremembering, because there isn’t anywhere for the animals to be hiding except the caves!

_ They can’t be that dangerous _ , he’d thought to himself and promptly set out for the very caves by the river he had been told to avoid.

_ Holy shit, they really are that dangerous, _ he thinks now, panicking as he scales a rocky ledge in a desperate attempt to avoid the sabre cat that keeps jumping into the air and batting at his boots like a kitten with yarn.

A very terrifying and monstrous kitten with yarn that can bleed and really, very much wishes to keep living,  _ please. _

Of course, Faendal’s luck has never been the best, so when he finally reaches the top of the boulders, there is a sword at his throat before he can even catch his breath.

“Do not. Move. A muscle,” the bandit hisses, foul breath cascading over Faendal’s face.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Faendal replies sincerely. “Only… Maybe I could stand up? This is a terrible position to be robbed in, and there’s a monster of a cat down there that would really enjoy ripping me--and all of my valuables--to shreds.”

The bandit weighs the request in his mind--which, judging by the time it takes and the expressions that flicker across his face, is a monumental task that might as well be using a broken scale--before nodding and stepping back slightly.

Slowly, Faendal lifts himself to his feet and weighs his options.

His options don’t weigh much at all, turns out.

Well, the dagger he throws like a dart into the throat of the bandit doesn’t weigh much, but that’s arguing semantics, really.

Faendal is just about to try a different route to return to Whiterun when voices echo from inside the cave.

Well. 

These caves  _ are _ dangerous. 

Maybe it’s time someone did something about that?

~~~~~~

“...and you probably won’t believe me, but it turns out that sword was Amren’s, anyway. I mean, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself!”

You snort quietly, shaking your head in amused disbelief, while Faendal works to scrub the caked gore from his armor before it rusts.

“So… You doing ok?”

You hesitate before nodding and smiling, but Faendal knows what you look like when you lie to him, so he only offers a small, knowing smile in response. You clearly have something to vent about, and if ranting and rambling for a little while will help you keep yourself sane, Faendal is more than willing to listen.

You gush about your lessons with Farengar and lament the fact that Farengar and Arcadia keep almost-but-not-quite flirting with one another--“Even though they’d be amazing together, I just know it.” You talk about the need to visit Kodlak again sometime soon, but you get nervous when Faendal starts asking about the specifics of your bond with him, so he stops asking. After all, Faendal trusts you, and he knows that if it’s anything he needs to know, you’ll be the first to tell him.

You ramble and rave about all the things you have to get done before you eventually circle around to the topic of your memory loss and go quiet.

Faendal’s no fool. He sees your mask of courage for exactly what it is, and he knows how scared you are of your own mind. He knows you cry for your lost memories as much as you do for the gained ones, and he knows that you feel helpless and lost and oh so very small.

He also knows that he’ll help however he can.

“Didn’t Danica tell you that a journal would be helpful?”

“ _ Might _ be,” you correct, expression downcast. “She doesn’t know for sure.”

“Well,” Faendal smiles, pulling his gift for you from his bag, “would you like to find out?”

The book Faendal passes to you is worn and the cover is a faded blue that reminds him of eggshells. To you, it looks like your brother’s eyes--the ones he’d inherited from your father--but Faendal has no way of knowing that. He only knows that he’d thought you would like it.

“This is… Oh, thank you!”

You throw yourself at him, and Faendal catches you in a hug just as your arms encircle his neck, laughing cheerfully.

“I’m glad you like it!”

And he is, because you’re family, and he’ll help however he can.


	3. Fenrer's Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenrer's POV of the first few chapters of Equilibrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor spoilers for early chapters, possessive behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional constipation, might make you feel emotions for the guy who's thus-far been the villain of the story.

Fenrer does not fear death.

As a boy, he watched his mother die in a skirmish with Thalmor soldiers who had taken offense to her Amulet of Talos. 

As a young man, Fenrer found his sister dead in the fields behind their home, an elvish dagger still sheathed in her belly and the rips in her underclothes exposing flesh that was yet warm.

Only a few days ago, Fenrer watched his father and brother fall to Imperial swords, though they had committed no crime but helping him and had not even intended to cross the border into Skyrim.

By now, Arkay is a more intimate companion than Fenrer has ever had.

Fenrer does not-- _ can  _ not--fear death.

But loss? 

Fenrer feels every loss as though it is the first. Every person he meets, he cares for as family, and it is something that has always been a pain and a boon in equal measure.

To claim so many people under one banner means there is an indefinite amount of loss to be felt, so Fenrer has taken pains to exclude everyone. 

He does not have friends. He does not keep lovers. He does not bond with anyone who fights at his side--though they are many, and they, like everyone else, offer him friendship as freely as he might offer a drink of water to a beggar child.

Fenrer does not get attached.

It is a  _ rule _ .

Fenrer  _ never _ gets attached to anyone.

...Except for you.

He isn’t sure where it started. He isn’t sure why it was you and not one of the other prisoners, bound and tossed into the wagon with him as they were. He doesn’t understand.

But he never has, so he makes do with what he’s got.

All Fenrer really knows is that from the moment you were thrown at him and he was tasked with making sure you woke from your injury, you became His.

That wasn’t unusual in its own right. The people Fenrer cares for are generally regarded with a certain amount of passive possessiveness and minor jealousy, and Fenrer, being wholly incapable of reading minds, had always assumed that that was just how affection worked.

So, in the span of just a few days, Fenrer had nursed you to health, and you became one of His People.

And then you were injured.

No, not just injured.

You had been damn near  _ scorched alive,  _ and he hadn’t been there to help you, and that Divines-damned soldier, Hadvar, had been so slow as to be virtually useless. If he had been even a second slower--

But Hadvar had  _ not  _ been a second slower, and Fenrer remembers that, and he forces himself to be grateful to the man.

Fenrer’s gratitude lasts right up to the point that Hadvar suggests they leave you there.

He tries not to shout, but he can’t stay calm forever, not when someone is so casually suggesting that he should abandon His People for the sake of a few cruel soldiers!

The shouting wakes you, and Fenrer is sure to be at your side when you wake, because you're His, and he doesn’t let anyone harm what’s His, and you’ll understand.

~~ You don’t understand, and you wake up confused and injured and afraid and convinced that they were going to leave you behind. You don’t understand, but Fenrer doesn’t understand  _ that.  _ He thinks you should know him as well as he knows you, but humans don’t work that way, and Fenrer  _ doesn’t understand. _ ~~

So he leads you through the dungeons, and he protects you.

When you stand in the corner of the entryway where the Stormcloaks attack, holding your sword away from you like it’s dangerous and  _ closing your eyes _ like you don’t realize what a terrible idea that is, Fenrer is the one who jumps in front of you and guts the Stormcloak standing there like a fish.

When your burns are getting worse, in a way that you don’t seem to notice, Fenrer is the one who insists you sit for a moment and treat them with bandages and salve. You don’t allow him to touch you, and that’s fine.

Fenrer protects you because he doesn’t know how to do anything else.

Then he starts digging through the packs of the fallen soldiers, looking for something that might help you, and something  _ changes  _ in a way he doesn’t understand.

He sees the look you give him, the sudden fear that enters your eyes, and he’s more confused than he ever has been, which is saying something considering the fact that he is almost constantly confused.

~~ You don’t know why he’s doing the things that he’s doing, and it doesn’t make sense to him, because surely you can tell that he’s something special to you, the way you are to him? ~~

~~ Fenrer hopes so.  ~~

~~ He’s so tired of losing. ~~

You see something, though. 

In Fenrer, you see something that no one else has ever seen, and for the tiniest moment, he hopes that you understand, because he just wants to help, and he can’t do that if you’re both clueless.

Then he sees your fear, and Fenrer’s hopes die unspoken.

You don’t speak to him, after that.

You don’t ask for help, and Fenrer ends up carrying you into Riverwood, cursing himself the whole way for not paying closer attention to you.

While you heal, Fenrer is gathering information and trying to find a safe way out of this country, so that he might help you get home again. 

When he returns, he finds you tense and avoiding him.

Sigrid does it, too. She didn’t look at him that way, not at first, but now she watches his every move with the same wary unease that you do, and just being in the house becomes a drain on his senses.

~~ He wonders what you said to her or what she said to you or whichever way it happened. ~~

~~ Fenrer doesn’t know why you’re suddenly distant or why you seem so intent on ignoring his very existence when you are obviously as attached to him as he is to you, and the distance between the two of you, both physical and mental, is a tax he can ill afford with Draugr and Witches roaming the countryside where you are hidden. He is at an utter loss. ~~

~~ He doesn’t understand, but he wants to. ~~

Fenrer doesn’t mean to do it, but he blames you.

The few times you speak with him, he finds himself being rude and menacing. He doesn’t want to be, not really, but there is some darker part of him that wants you to have a  _ reason  _ to fear him, and it’s the part that’s winning.

Fenrer fears that part of himself, and he fears  _ you _ , too.

There is something about you, he knows, that makes you more than just someone under his protection, but he has no idea what it is.

What he does know is that you are immune to the charm he was born with, and if Sigrid is anything to go by, you can make others immune, too.

Without his silver tongue, Fenrer is  _ nothing _ and maybe not even that, and he  _ fears  _ you because if he loses you, that’s one thing, but if he loses  _ everyone  _ because of you?

He worries that he would hate you for that, and that would be even worse.

So Fenrer does what he’s always been best at, and he runs away.

~~ You’ll find him. He knows that without knowing exactly why he knows. ~~

~~ Fenrer could travel to the very end of the world, and still, you would be called to him as surely as he has always been called to the cold and the mountaintops. ~~

~~ You would find him if he sank into the molten rock of the Red Mountain itself, and you would _hate_ him for having the audacity to bring you there. ~~

Fenrer does not fear death.

But loss?

Oh, loss eats away at him and leaves him hollow, and he cowers at the threat of it.


End file.
